To The Bartholdi Statue
O Liberty,
God-gifted— Young and immortal maid— In your high hand uplifted, The torch declares your trade. Its crimson menace, flaming Upon the sea and shore, Is, trumpet-like, proclaiming That Law shall be no more. Austere incendiary, We're blinking in the light; Where is your customary Grenade of dynamite? Where are your staves and switches For men of gentle birth? Your mask and dirk for riches? Your chains for wit and worth? Perhaps, you've brought the halters You used in the old days, When round religion's altars You stabled Cromwell's bays? Behind you, unsuspected, Have you the axe, fair wench, Wherewith you once collected A poll-tax for the French? America salutes you— Preparing to "disgorge." Take everything that suits you, And marry Henry George.
Composition date is unknown - the above date represents the first publication date.
The lyrical form of this poem is abab.1.
In 1886 Fré;dé;ric-Auguste Bartholdi'sstatue of Liberty--entitled \
Ambrose Bierce
Other author posts
Freedom
Freedom, as every schoolboy knows, Once shrieked as Kosciusko fell; On every wind, indeed, that blows I hear her yell She screams whenever monarchs meet, And parliaments as well, To bind the chains about her feet And toll her knell And w...
Christian
I dreamed I stood upon a hill, and, lo The godly multitudes walked to and Beneath, in Sabbath garments fitly clad, With pious mien, appropriately sad,
General BF Butler
Thy flesh to earth, thy soul to God, We gave, O gallant brother; And o'er thy grave the awkward squad Fired into one another An inept political general,
Decalogue
Thou shalt no God but me adore: 'Twere too expensive to have more No images nor idols make For Roger Ingersoll to break Take not God's name in vain: select A time when it will have effect Work not on Sabbath days at all, But go to s...
